TEACHING AND ITS DYNAMISM

Who ever thinks of being a teacher? Staff-room, classes, whiteboards and students. Teaching is fun. You need to be very informed and relevant like a a budding writer like me. But teaching can be very challenging. Standing in front of a classroom is not easy. Not when all students are looking at you and they have expectations that you will deliver and not mislead. 
 

After looking for a job left right and centre, I landed in a teaching institution. Wow, before that, I had been interviewed for a job in an office setting. Well, if I were to choose, I would stick to teaching for now. It is an experience that I have to be very happy about. Of course my employer offered me the job and I thought, well, this is a good starting point.

I am sitting in the staff-room, writing these chronicles. Just minutes ago, the Nairobi skylines were rented by the cacophonous sounds of low flying military aircraft that caused some hullabaloo among  staff mates. It sounded as if the jet was just hovering directly overhead having singled-out an Alshabab mercenary ready to sed the Recce squad to deal with the terror outfit.

'That is UK trying to showcase his military preparedness in wait of Obama.' One of the vocal teachers commented.

Since I have no lecture to attend, I am reminiscing about the first impression of this school.

It is relatively big by any standards, it is located in a serene atmosphere at the periphery of the city centre and the students are generally amiable.

If I would describe teaching, I would say it is one of the most relaxing jobs. Of course there is pressure to meet the target, students passing exams and what else, yes imparting knowledge among other important aspects that has to do with education.


Many of us find it excruciatingly painful to speak publicly, this is very unarguably true. Take note that this is not a fallacious argument We feel nauseous. We can barely breathe. Our bodies tremble. We lose track of time, find it difficult to concentrate, and babble.

While reading Mwalimu Andrew’s Staffroom Diaries, I have been reading it ever since its inception but neither did I ever had the idea I would ever work or end up spending a huge chunk of time in the staffroom.

I also wrote about teachers last year. And maybe, I had foretold about me being a teacher.

As opposed to Mwalimu Andrew who teaches in a Primary School, I teach in a tertiary institution where the kind of students you deal with are sometimes more informed than you are.

I should start a diary of the ups and downs of a Nairobi lecturer. I sometimes wish I would have used my talent in being an actor to the fullest. However, when I think of the grueling procedure involved in terms of auditioning, rejection, trial and error; I usually am like, ‘Ok, I am not that aggressive kind of guy or person. I love things on a silver platter. Who doesn’t love a life of sitting and waiting for things to happen? It’s just normal that I am also part of wider majority of people who love an easy life.’

So my employer inquired if I was interested in a job as a lecturer and I responded on the affirmative. You see, there is no denial that most youth are looking for better jobs. If someone would have asked me which kind of job I am looking for, I would also say the same. Am looking for a better well-paying job.  But sometimes my main motivation is usually not even the pay. Sometimes it is the acceptance and the satisfaction you get from what you do. Again, getting an opportunity to be a teacher is not as easy. And it being teaching,majority of teachers are still looking for greener pastures.

With the rate at which media houses are hell bent on exposing institutions that offer certificates of doom, I take this opportunity to clarify that the institution I am currently lecturing in does not offer certificates of doom. Most of my workmates are either pursuing their masters’ degrees or are planning of pursuing the same. Majority are former campus graduates who did their undergraduate studies not more than ten years ago.

Of course there are those who are in their prime ages as one lady lecturer who said her first child is a year older than me. By any standards, I am among the youngest here.

However, I initially told myself that the first job I came across, I would never mind as long as it gave me an opportunity to interact, get to the next level and it also giving me a challenge in terms of growth and ameliorating myself. As a teacher, I realized I need to be very informed. Read wider in order not to mislead and be very dynamic and flexible.

After being introducted to my students by their former tutors, I did take over. I felt like I was in another dais with a scripted document that I was to present. I could see expectant faces of students  students and albeit they were not cheeky, they were cynical. They are my age mates. I had hardly introduced myself when they started asking questions.

Obviously I had told them my name, but most of the ladies were like: Tell us about status, engaged or single. They wanted to know where I had gone to school and when I told them, I could see one student telling another by finishing off the title of the course I had done.

At that point, I wished I was as good in narration like Joinno Ten (link). Or maybe those lecturers in my former campus who bragged about their covets which they made us believe were real.

If one of my students ever gets to know that I write, I will be belaboured to him or her because of my secernate nature yet I am still a nom de guerre. I still want to keep my profile low. I have not yet got the guts of going mainstream.

Teaching is a very fantastic job, especially when you are doing it with a passion and you love what you are teaching about. Again, if you never love reading and doing some bit of research during free time, you may end up not delivering content as expected. Students may also reject you, but you become good with time.

In fact, though this is a tertiary institution, we teach them the same stuff I read while in campus. I was amazed that they sometimes cover the units better than we were doing while in campus. Delivery is paramount. However, teaching sometimes does not mean that you know, but as long as you can read, understand, give an example and prove to students that you are good, you are good to go. I am sure even teachers themselves usually find some students smarter than them but since they cannot acknowledge for fear of belittling themselves, they never will let such a student know. If you are the type who is afraid to answer questions, fret among students and develops cold feet in front of people, then teaching might prove a challenge in the short run.

When I grow up, I want to be a lecturer. Now that it seems like in Kenya you require connections to make it in the mainstream job market (you know those jobs, you wonder how that guy doing it got it earning 10 or fifty times your pay but was an academic dwarf), I will be contented with reading and making hay while the sun shines.

I have not yet started using my potential skills, like doing a TEDx, trying to convince students that with education something will happen or something will not. But what is amazing is the fact that if you are good with what you are doing, you can be very good. With teaching, I get to be respected by my students (I especially like the part where you have authority over them, they calling you Sir or teacher and you smile  internally and there is nothing they can do about it even if they are your age mates.)

Now I understand why teachers sometimes did ask questions and students gave blank stares. Like I rarely participated in question and answer sessions in campus, but while in primary or secondary, I tried or lets say I was more vocal. However, in school, there is usually a wrong answer and a right one. It goes without doubt that answering questions among your fellow students’ boosts your confidence and also makes you more knowledgeable as you may also try as much to be conversant most of the time.

Another thing is that, students rarely take time to read when it is not time for exams. When I walk along the alleys and see students reading (is it reading or copying notes? I am not sure), I usually get the impression that we are indeed not a sleeping nation. While studies without thinking of another means when things don’t go as planned is not beneficial, there is something that is for sure, you never get sick while gaining knowledge.

SITUONANE.

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SHOULD HAVE BEEN CONNED

I am still zetetic. Yes, till then, I have not yet got a good enough tale to recount. Ouch! I hope I will after everthing.

But one of my cousins story did excite. His name is Anguro

His borders on being a sadist.

Let me explain. Anguro is one of those characters who is sly and no amount of caveat restricts him from his obnoxious behaviour that has never ceased since I knew him.

On April fools, since they live in a place that is near the village, he told his neighbour this.

"You wife is being worked on in the house by the village priest."

The neighbour having a shortwire thought this was true and went back to the house, upon arrival, he found his wife had gone to the market.

When she arrived. Sema kichapo cha mbwa. She was beaten till she had to escape back to her parents.

Anguro had in the meantime left for a party where he was free from the apocalypse of the neighour wife.

So in the end, the neighbour cameto realize that ther was something known as fools day.

He insisted that Anguro had to accompany him to go bring back his wife. This is atrue story.

Now, you see, not everyone knows that fools day. The neighbour on realizing this was at pains because he had give his better half a preseent she did not deserve.

Anyway, Anguro went back home and I am yet to hear from him on how things went.

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HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY MUM

There comes a time in one's life when s/he has to give thanks to the one who gave you life. Obviously, mothers day is that day many usually realize that, 'Oh! It's mothers day and  I need to tell he something.'

Since my dear mother is still alive, I usually ensure I remember her with a message because we usually never talk much. But when she is in town, we gibber a lot. She is a real African woman. She never fears to express her mind and her irk.

However, time has made her more diplomatic. Every of my cousins, uncles, aunts and who else neighbours, knew she was a no go zone.

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CONNECTION: AN APAGOGE?

I have a godfather. Why lie. You should be guessing who the bugger is by now. You probably think he is some big man sitting somewhere in an palatial office tacked somewhere in a leafy environment complete with lash green grass sipping some 50 something year old whiskey. And he is entertained by exquisite well toned socialites who have nothing to lose but money to gain (that's what they are after). He probably sits behind a cherry desk that seems almost superfluous, since there's little to no paperwork to be seen. Plus, a deep burgundy leather desk chair, that reclines to an almost obscene angle.

Hell no. I have a different Godfather. (Reminds me that I need to watch the Godfather series). One who offers me challenges. He can never let me sit idle and while away time. He challenges me to think and to be on toes. He wants me to see the bigger picture in life. He cares and has given me the leeway to act as I want. He never checks me. He never is like a teacher in primary following pupils around to check they have done what they are required to do. He wants me to be responsible, to find out something about life. It has to do with being watchful and taking stock.

I bumped into my Godfather more than two years ago. I never knew he would one day turn into the Godfather he is today. While most people have Godfathers who help you find a job or aid in a quest (hope this is their job, right?), after that you struggle to ameliorate your status, my Godfather is kind of different. The moment I found him, he never got me a job immediately. He only gave me an avenue. If I get that job, it will have to give it to my Godfather. But aint I employed already?

Everywhere I go, I am challenged. ‘You are going to make it.’ My Godfather reminds me as he whispers on my ear. He has refused to help me figure out how to make it. He lets me find out things on my own. I thought it would be easy dealing with him. However, he has been very instrumental in checking my moves. I have made mistakes before that I have been forced to correct. And will make many more because they help make one a better person.

My Godfather has forced me to go back to school. Not the conventional one where you sit each day and wait for a teacher to come impart knowledge in your empty head. No, he has put me on a journey I need to discover on my own. Actually, he ensured that everywhere I went to was a class. I have learnt a lot through him pushing me to try to do it better. Obviously, I have grown in many ways ever since our union got to the next level.

Who is my Godfather then? I actually don’t know. If I told you his name, you would not believe it, if I gave you the idea of how to approach him, still you would not be courageous to go through the way. He never relents, though. He will still be waiting for me with open arms. He is enthusiastic to welcome me back even when I deviated and went away. 

For instance, I just discovered the other day that he has been growing in bounds at a very steady state. The approach he took to advise me was what was inspiring. Am really betrothed to him. However I am not a fire starter. It is that commitment where you never have to be fully consigned to the person. You are free like oxygen.

I sometimes push my godfather to do things he is unwilling. Say, take me to the next level, or maybe just open up and tell me to surrender because things are not really working. But he never lends me his piece of mind. I am not an astrologer, a charlatan or a mind reader. Not even slightly. He wants me to think outside the box and look at the bigger picture. And maybe see to it that there is something I can gain or maybe discover if I never relent. My angst at him is void. He has no fillings. When you try to deviate, he brings you back.


As a matter of fact, my blog is my Godfather. Yes. Since it got me a full time job, I have been able to be in unpaid employment. Am a freelancer. Now I can concentrate on what I know best. Exploring all the avenues that are worthy but satisfying till lady luck smiles.


Sometimes, I usually cannot believe that this is my designation in life. Sitting down and reading books, travelling, watching movies and what else, writing because I am aiming at becoming a better reviewer. As you can see, I am not complaining on what I wish I had. I am only complaining that I wish I knew this earlier. I wish Godfather could have spurred the urge in me to do more earlier on in life. However he never did that. He was sitting still, never blinking an eye or moving an appendage. He was aloof. The kind of person who ultimately would have never even approached you. But he is there. The only problem is sticking to his ways. I have belabored him to change, he told me change is given upon purchase of cheap things. 

And that's true, change is never given to people who go for luxury and are filthy rich upon purchase. They never tell you to keep change, instead, they tip you.

However, I am open to being a connector. I have realized something funny about Kenyans. They are all over talking about connections which are never even that necessary. Someone who never seeks the connection gets the connection as you sulk day and night.


I am as unconnected as any other guy outside there. Seeking to make it even when I will tryout till the umpteenth time. I still have seven years to go with this godfather. When things will have taken a nosedive then, I will seek another Godfather. Then my sobriety will be rational enough having seen a lot and been knowledgeable.


The best connections still remains to be the network of people we have. They work better than anything else. But when it is said and done, it is the persona that will determine the success and if the connection work.

SITUONANE.

[Photo Source: My own]

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SIBERIA

I have lost my writing edge, I can't think of the best way to flawlessly write. Either way, I am going to write about it because I have decided to immerse myself in this apt pastime that not only makes me more intelligent (this is for real), but also keeps me busy and disciplined. Being busy is a noble way of killing boredom, solitude and stress.

Siberia it was. Years ago, I only knew Siberia as a very cold region found in the Reds Army Nation. I remember telling my friend Nico about Siberia. Mmmmh! Every time I meet with Nico, he reminds me of Siberia as if it is something that was so fun to reminisce about. He usually taunts me and makes a joke out of it as if it is some overripe story.

Nico was my campus senior. He has this infectious laughter that has kept him going amid the vicissitudes of being an entrepreneur. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if most youth were as courageous as Nico. He never ever thought of applying for a job. A waste of time he thought, having discovered he could make a living without too much laboring. A former 'Changez' bugger, he had a very touching story.

I remember attending his graduation and his mom narrated about his struggle with ailments in school. He never had it rosy but still passed his final exams. Yet amid all that struggle, he still managed to make it to campus. A real hustler, Nico is inspirational. Even in campus, he never had it easy. Yet he sauntered on with life. He looked at life in the context of making it easy when it got tough. And his laughter, his dark complexion, his bespectacled face, his wit and his dedication to Christ are virtues I did admire.

For those who attended Lazz (Ladies Attraction Zone) as our school was known, there were a host of infamous cubes known as Siberia. Siberia, anyone who slept in these rooms knew what it meant to sleep in a room that was bleak and frosty.

Siberia was cold, like literally. It was meant for all the students irrespective of the class they were in. Unfortunately, a bulk of those who slept in it were form ones. Impunity starts at a very tender age, I tell you. The boarding master beseeched dormitory captains to ensure that each and every cube had every student of all the forms but that fell on deaf ears. It was never implemented in Siberia. Siberia was a real initiation into high school. Most of those in form two, three and four did slept in cubes that were inside.

Siberia were those cubes at the very periphery of the hostel- sorry dormitory. Our dorms were divided into cubes with no doors and hosted about four or six students depending on the size of the dorm. They were not small though, because there were enough room for lockers. Those who slept in Siberia can attest to the fact that when the door remained ajar during the cold winter season (long rains), it was tantamount to sleeping in a camp tent with no blankets.

It really gets cold inside the bed. The kind of cold that penetrates the quilt creeping inside you clothes spreading on your skin like a lacy tide on a frigid winter. You could sometimes hear a gentle chattering of teeth as the cold left the face numb when you passed by Siberia.

Siberia was not only meant for sleeping. It was also for receiving a dose of medicine if the dorms never performed well. Even though one tries to remember the good things about one’s school days, there’s one abiding memory I have, literally a hurtful one that I want to describe: the painful, humiliating, angry memory of being caned.

I never knew who sanctioned this system of punishment to be meted out on young and innocent form ones by senior students. It was more than the bullying synonymous to most high school. Being whacked by a fellow student was the worst form of penance that a fellow could be subjected to. Sometimes you got spanked after doing a series of pushups that were counted from the negative when you fell or did denigrate.

Thank goodness the good old and famous ‘Nyuki’ brought to an end the shameless system through measures that aided in reducing the vice. Nyuki was a new principal who was bit by a bee and it being his first statement during his premier address of the school of having been bit, the name stuck. He even knew the name.

So years later, there was this lady I met last year who narrated to me an emotional story of her elder brother’s tribulations in the hands of two school captains who gave him lethal strokes to a point where the poor boy had to be taken for medical assistance in the nearby hospital. Of course the school captains were shown the door.  Guys used to show me the captains who would have been enjoying the trappings of power and the privileges that came with being the heads of a student body and I did sneer because they had rightfully been shown their place in life. 

In fact, the school captain was answerable to the Principal. He was so powerful.

The lady’s younger brother never made it to Lazz following the ill treatment her older brother had been subjected to while in Lazz. This lady was the daughter of a powerful area chief. As usual, she expected me to have known her dad. Sadly, I was at pains to deny the same owing to the fact that I never did roam in the area and its vicinity.

Friday was usually the day when we would receive what our then school principal used to call the sharp, quick and nasty ones. Though somehow taciturn, when his tempers flared, you sure would have never think of crossing his path.  'Conc', due to his mastery of matters Chemistry was his nick name.

You see, (direct translation there- unaona) those days, loaf was life. Especially unsliced bread. Forget about the bugger who said ‘the best thing after sliced bread.’ We loved unsliced bread because we could press it into a single slice. It came naked. There was a time the school canteen tried giving sliced bread and it was a disaster.  

Every other Saturday, there was general cleanliness. Washing the ablutions, maintaining the lawns (slashing), working on the flowers, scrubbing the floors spotless they turned white, and all matters to do with general cleanliness. While a mono, we were not required to be clean while inspection of the dorm was in progress. But changes are inevitable and we had to be clean in the years that followed.

Mondays were meant for release of the results of the dormitories that performed very well. Two dormitories formed a house. In that regard, if both your dormitories performed well, there was a reward of a half loaf of bread for every student in the house. I still can’t fathom the fact that I have lost the hanker for bread years later.

Even though the task of cleaning the dorms was tasked to both the form one and twos, form twos never bore the brunt when the house performed dismally. So as form ones when our house was not doing well, we the monos were spanked by prefects for being ‘vichwa.’ This was usually was meted out on Friday night. And it was worse when the prefect had failed in exams.

Once, I told the dorm captain that I was sick and if he dared touch me, he could regret hitting a sick student.

For the form ones who were sagacious, they roamed the institution the whole night making it to bed in the wee hours of the night to evade the rattan.  

There was a certain friend who was beaten by a block of wood having been suspected to have stolen some items because his cardigan with his name sewn on it was found at the scene of crime.  Boy, when he told me it was mistaken identity, I felt for him. But all in all, he was given a thorough beating like a stray wild dog nabbed by rural dwellers that had been feasting on their sheep and goats.

In our sophomore years, Nyuki could not tolerate such vices. He sacked any captain found engaging in the vice and gave students audience and authority to report any of the captains who flouted the rule of no wickerwork.

I had always wished there would come such a time. It came just when we had moved to the next class. However, I bet Siberia still remains. Those who slept there were academic nerds and geniuses, especially in our dorm. The biting cold that chilled their bodies and seeped into their toes, painfully through the feet and tearing into their hearts making their blood turn into icy sludge ensured they were early risers as the rest of us roared soundly in our comfy beds. The wind that cut through their skin and tortuously slashed their marrow with constant harsh blows, like rime daggers, as we moaned in the pleasure that was their pain. Our beds that had turned into domestic luxury, pacifying and isn’t the bed the best endowment a high student loves?

SITUONANE

[Photo source: Google Images]

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